No Way Out: Mafia Elite, book 1 by Amy McKinley

No Way Out: Mafia Elite, book 1 by Amy McKinley

Author:Amy McKinley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arrowscope Press, LLC


Chapter Fifteen

Liliana

A handprint of flour was on Matt’s black T-shirt. I had some on my nose and wore a smile that made my cheeks ache. Music played over the sound system, drowning out the rain pelting the wall of glass windows in the living room.

We’d hung out for hours on his balcony, talking. I shouldn’t have been so at ease with him. I mean, he was the enemy. He was holding me hostage. I couldn’t leave. But then he’d brought up my instincts and how I should trust what they told me about him. Not once while he was supposed to watch over me did he make me feel in danger. With him around, I felt invincible.

I was buying what he was selling. While he stirred his aunt’s sauce recipe and I chopped the mushrooms that I insisted had a place on the pizza despite his protests, I couldn’t help but smile. We were having fun. I didn’t worry and wasn’t as defensive as I should have been. I mean, he freaking kidnapped me.

I wanted to believe him when he said he would keep me safe. It was either work with him or escape and try my luck, running and hiding. With the cartel as another obstacle, I decided to agree to his terms of looking at him as a friend and not an enemy for the next two days. It wasn’t a horrible deal.

Setting aside the chopped mushrooms, I sprinkled flour on the counter to roll out the resting dough. The individual rounds were soft and beautiful. The yeast had risen perfectly. I dropped one in the center of the flour then grabbed the rolling pin.

From behind me, I heard laughter. “I thought you were Italian.” His deep voice teased my ears.

I shot him an annoyed look over my shoulder. “I am. But I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to do this.”

He tapped the spoon, removing it from the sauce he was stirring. All amusement melted from his face. I turned away. Heat infused my cheeks. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Now, you do.” He took the rolling pin from my hand then stood behind me. His arms came around me, and he placed his hands over mine. He pushed my fingers into the dough. “An inch from the edges is where you start.” After each time we pressed into the dough, he moved our hands back and repeated the motion until we were an inch from the other edge. “Then flip it and repeat.”

Once that was done, he positioned most of my fingers under the edge of the dough with two on top, while the other hand held the inside position near the opposite edge. “Now, we stretch the dough.” We stretched it, flipped it up, then shifted to do the next section. Over and over, until the dough formed a round, flat shape with a thick edge to serve as crust.

To be honest, I wasn’t paying attention to cooking with all that muscle at my back and his arms around me.



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